Harry Potter and the Lure of the Pocket Watch
by Ascended Alteran
Summary: After the death of Voldemort and everyone he cares about Harry has imprisoned himself in his house with only a strange pocket watch, alcohol and a fire to keep him company.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

He sat hunched over in his favourite frayed chair head lolling over the top, a bottle of empty scotch lying across his lap and numerous more around his chair. The bottles made a wonderful mosaic and helped to pain the picture of a troubled man who was lost. Occasionally his face would be illuminated in the flickering of the fire from the fireplace across the room before the shadows would take it away. The face was covered in scars, bits of his ears were torn off and a missing eye. The largest scar ran from his left cheek up across his nose over his eye and up to his scalp.

The crackle and snap of the wood being burned roared through the void towards the man, but he never stirred. The room had no furnishings except for the chair, the walls were wood, but were of a cheap kind, there was no painting or photographs and the mantle was bare except for a broken pocket watch with the initials HJP on it and a unopened letter the words _To My Heir _written on it. It was unknown why this pocket watch was the only possession in the room. When he had gone to his family vault deep blow the ground that was all he had found besides the gold silver and bronze coins and he had only found it because it had been placed on a pedestal. The room had only one window which was open a crack allowing the alcohol and the stagnate air from the sweat stained clothed man to escape into the star filled sky.

Night turned to day and with the sun shining into the room, the man stirred, moaning and mumbling incoherently. Finally, he opened his eye and looked over at the darkened fireplace, his face emotionless and frozen as if nothing more than a statue chipped into being by an amateur drunken artist. The only sign of life came from his eye that narrow green iris filled with pain and sadness. It was heavy and dark as if that fragile organ was supporting the entire cosmos.

He rose out of the chair, the bottle falling to the floor breaking into several pieces, but he did not notice, kicking the pieces to the side with his sock covered toe he moved slowly across the floor. He continued across the floor carelessly pushing the other empty bottles to the side as he walked. Blood seeping through his sock onto the floor leaving behind bloody footprints in his wake, but he did not flinch or give any sign that he had noticed, it was as if he could not feel at all. His hand stretched out as if some unseen force was dragging him.

When he reached the fireplace, he looked down at the inconspicuous closed pocket watch, a relic from his ancestor, the person he guessed he was named after. His eye glanced between the letter and the pocket watch as if he was watching a tennis match as he had watched his aunt done frequently when he was a child. Finally, he rose his left hand and snatched the letter away with such speed that it appeared as if he was afraid it would bolt. Then he turned around and as his gaze drifted down to the letter, his eye spotted the bloody footprints and then his gaze turned to his foot where he noticed the red circle around his toes and groaned in frustration.

"Damnit, those were my favourite socks."

The next thing he did was strange, he pulled out a long piece of wood and directing it at his toe mumbled something in a different language. A strand of light twirled out of the stick and when it reached the toe, made the whole toe glow before disappearing. Then he pointed the stick at his toe again and after mumbling something that sounded different, another strand of light, though with a different colour, shot out. This time though, when the toe ceased glowing, the sock was no longer red. After evaporating the empty bottles and the pieces of glass from the broken bottle, he calmly walked back to the chair and flopped into it.

Holding the letter delicately in his hands, he stared at it, as if he was hoping that his unasked questions would be answered. Sighing in frustration, he carefully broke the wax seal and then reached in and pulled out the faded parchment. After he discarded the envelope with his left hand, he unfolded the letter and began reading it.

_Dear Harold James Potter,_

_I do not have much time left, hah, time, we always think that we have enough. I am your distant ancestor, Harold James Potter, born 14 October in the year of our Lord, 1433. I'm writing to you on 22 January 1528, for reasons I don't know, only that my wife, the wonderful Lisette de Lapin, insisted that I do, though what was so special about writing to you I can't quite fathom and neither would she tell me._

_Ah my wonderful wife, when I first met her, she had just ran over from Paris escaping an execution and tripped over some rut in the road and I, being the wonderful gentleman I am, caught her. She told me her name was Lisette de Lapin and I became enchanted by it and before you know it, we were together and married. She works as an advisor for Henry the VI and I am a member of the Masons Guild. _

_Anyways as I am sure, you have no desire to read about our life, I will get straight to the point. I leaving behind in our new vault besides the money that we made, all converted into magic currency of course, this broken pocket clock. It is a peculiar object in it of itself; my wife told me that it is a pocket watch or a miniature clock, which is completely fascinating because there are only a handful of clocks around here and they are huge building sized ones. She has forbid me from opening it, which I have to say, is very frustrating because the unknown has always intrigued me. I do not know how it came to be in my possession only that it is most dear to me and that i should never lose it, so I have taken to keep it in my pocket at all times._

_However, I digress; I am leaving it in your possession and in my wife's words 'if you are tired of your wretched sulky life and want to find purpose and meaning, then open it.' Though I have no idea how a small broken clock could do that, nor do I know why she said such things about your life, I couldn't imagine a reason why one should not enjoy life no matter what kind of struggles they go through, we only have one life to live and we should make the best of it. I also would think that the future would be wonderful full of new places, new advancements like this clock. However, I guess the future is not that much different than the present. One always looks to the future imagining something wonderful and it always ends up being wonderful to all but those that call it their present, to them it's all the same._

_Sorry for that philosophical tangent I cannot help it; I guess it is the age imposing its will on me. My wife just gave a snort after that I did not realise it was funny. Anyways enough chat; I have said my piece, now it is up to you to decide whether to open the mysterious pocket watch. The choice is yours, but remember life is meant to be lived, so go out and explore the wonders and mysteries of your world starting with the pocket watch. My wife just said good luck and if you do decide to open it to make peace with your past, whatever that means. Anyways good luck!_

_Sincerely yours,_

_Harold James Potter_

The letter fell between his open hands onto his lap, his eye caught in the grip of the pocket watch across the room. He did not see the letter being blown away by the small breeze wafting through the window. His face rippled, emotions coming and going so quickly you feared that if you blinked you would miss it. Finally, it settled on the default, plastered on to the skull its rock hard surface stoic and old. Cracks began to form, a line opened up in it and it released a small sip of wind, as if on cue, the crack became more prominent and then with a sharp noise the stone began to drip off. Those drips became torrents and until nothing stone remained, all that was left was a man barely in his twenties.

His feet slowly crawled the short distance, his eye never leaving his goal its flickering silver surface. The light from the fire tap-dancing over its surface he could hear the sound it made, the clipping and clopping of its feet. His hands outstretched, desperately grasping for an end of his torment. He held it in his hand, his fingers rubbing over its etched surface, his thumb tracing over the initials that both he and his ancestor shared. He stared at it for a long time, unwilling to open it, trying to resist its lure, the lure of the unknown, the mystery that was the pocket watch.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Time's silent arm kept on ticking with Harry's thumb stroking to its beat. Lunch forgotten and Dinner fast approaching. Finally, with just the top of the sun above the trees that thumb stopped and flicked it open, the inside was just pure golden magic, swirling and dancing arcing up and out before cascading down back inside. His mouth was open, his eyes wide and he just stood there gaping, birds could have made a nest in his mouth and he would not have noticed.

Suddenly a large growling noise startled him enough that with a shake of his head as if to get rid of any cobwebs that might have been formed and with a flick of his thumb, the watch was closed. His whole body then began shaking as if he was surrounded by dementors. The growling was heard again and with a last shake of his head, he wandered into the dusty kitchen and went searching through the fridge and cupboards. Opened boxes with the faded print _by 17 February 2000 _were written over most of them a few of them said _25 March 2000_. Finally, he picked up a box of crackers with _26 April_ _2000_ on it, opened it and began munching; after a second, he screwed up his face and spat it out. Then grabbing the box he hurled it in the direction of the bin, but missed it by several feet, shrugging his shoulders he turned and leaving the kitchen walked towards the door. With a flick of his wrist, his face rippled into a younger, more handsome, and scar less face. Then grabbing his jacket walked outside.

He walked down the street, passing all the houses, mostly Gregorian style though with some Tudor style interspersed, without a glance. His face was programmed to only face forward yet his whole body was tense, his arms twitching as if impatiently waiting for someone to attack him, his eyes twitching and if wanting to look behind him or to the sides for an unseen attacker. The town was mostly Tudor in style, passing the pub on the corner he headed down into the village green. Heading into the local grocery shop, he passed the grocer with barely a nod and a mumbled reply. The grocer shrugged his shoulder, as if this was normal but continued to watch him with his eyes, missing the customer who had arrived to pay for his groceries.

"George! Hey George"

"Sorry about that John, it's just been awhile since I've seen him come in here; it just makes me wonder what happened to him"

"Nothing, he's always been that way ever since he came here two years ago."

"But I highly doubt he was always like that"

"You're probably right, if I were to guess I would say a war"

"Yeah that is a possibility, though he doesn't look like he came from a war he looks young much too young."

"Do you get that feeling that he is covering himself or hiding himself?"

"You mean that fact that he stays cooped up in his house and only goes out to get liquor? Yeah I think that is a given."

"No, as if that is not his face, but merely a mask?"

"How is that possible and why would he do it?"

"Maybe his face is disfigured. As to how he could change his face, maybe make-up or OMFS."

"That poor man, no wonder he looks so grim"

"Of course there is another explanation..."

"No, defiantly not, that one doesn't really fit; if that was the case he would be meeker instead of tense. No his behaviour is one of paranoia, yet not to the point of hysterics, but more reserved that means he is in control and that level means military training"

"Who are you, and what have you done to George, the simple grocer?"  
George let out a chuckle "I may be a grocer, but that doesn't mean I never went to University. I got my MA in Sociology and Psychology at the University of Glasgow."

"So what made you become a grocer in a small town in Denbighshire of all places?"

"Tired of the hustle and bustle and wanted to settle down somewhere quiet and secluded."

"I couldn't agree more and to answer your query, I did get OMFS and I could be classified by the DSM-IV-TR as having PTSD, though I call it watching everyone you ever cared about die in front of you to a terrorist."

"I'm sorry"

"Forget about it, it was bound to happen at some point or other, and stop that sympathetic look I came here to escape that, to go somewhere where they didn't know me, where I could find peace. So how much will that be?"

"20 pounds, Sir"

"Thanks"

Then without another thought, he strode out of the store with his two bags. As soon as he had gotten out of sight of the shop he picked up his pace, he looked as if he were trying to run, but without running. Eyes darting around and hands grasping the bag handles, the fact that the bag remained intact is a testimony to the engineering that went into the bag. As he began walking towards his house, he suddenly felt as if he was being stared at, he glanced at the other houses and realised that people were staring at him, gawking as if he were some freak or some monster. Then he realised that his magic had failed him, he was now his true self. Sighing in resignation he turned and glared at them.

"Let's all stare at the disfigured freak it will be a wonderful tale to tell all my friends when they come over for tea. What's the world without any freaks like me to provide for your entertainment. My answer is nothing! Your life is so mundane that anything out of your simple ordered lives, no matter how small, such as a man like me walking home, is sudden cause for people to be climbing over each other to get a glimpse of me. I am not a freak to be gaped at! I am not an animal! I am a human being! I am a man!"

With that, he turned and continued to walk, not looking back, not showing any emotions, neither satisfaction nor disappointment. The crowd followed him with their eyes, desperate for more of him; to follow him, to see where he lives; to know what his name was, where he came from and what happened to him. Unfortunately, their bodies were rooted to the spot and refused to move, and so, helplessly, those eager eyes had to be content with a panning shot.

As he walked on, he was mumbling, "How is this possible? My magic has never failed me before. What is happening to me? Have I not suffered enough? What did I do to upset Fate enough to deserve this? First, I was starved and abused as a child. Then I never had a relaxing moment through school, first with being beaten by my cousin, then by a psychopath who had too much hyphens in his name. Then lastly, I had to watch as all my close friends die one after another."

Afterwards his mumbling became less coherent as he continued to walk kicking several of the loose stones on the road. The sky darkened as grey clouds covered up the sun and shortly after it began raining. It started out gradually with a few drops but then more started to fall and it continued to increase. His muttering never changed and he continued to kick loose rocks and when he could not find any, he began to kick mud and water.

By the time he arrived at his vine-covered gate, his clothes and bags were soaked. He looked up into the rain a smile plastered on his face, water dripped onto his eyelid and pooled in his empty eye socket. Then he slowly lowered his head allowing the rain to dribble out over his cheek before it fell to the ground. Opening the gate, he walked down the path and around the back to the back door, opened it, walked inside taking off his shoes, with a flick of his wand tried to dry off his clothes, and only managed to remove a small portion of it. Cursing and grumbling he took of his wet clothes then set the grocery bags down on the kitchen counter and then stomped over to his room to find where he placed his spare clothes.

Finding his dresser and wardrobe, he pulled on some pants, trousers and a soft collar shirt. Then he went into the kitchen and made himself a small roast beef sandwich and placing some crisps on it went back to his favourite chair and sat down to eat. Crumbs fell all over him and the chair as he stuffed his face with food. After he was done eating, he went back to the kitchen and placed his plate in the sink. Returning to his living room, he went over to the mantle and grabbed the pocket watch. Then he walked back to his chair and fell into it stroking it engraved surface again with his thumb.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

He lay there for the longest time staring at the pocket watch, his thumb had stopped rubbing it and not he was holding it up to his face so that the tip was touching his nose. It was tilted towards his remaining eye yet not so much that it was cast in shadow. He studied the engravings, not the initials, but the swirl, a continuous line that never went back over itself and yet seemed to show the image of a police box floating in space. After a few minutes, his eyebrow rose so that it was barely touching his hair as his eye rolled around as if tracing the pattern. Shortly after, his lips twitched into a smile, his eye closed and his shoulders sagged with only the careful stroking of his thumb to show that he was still awake.

He seemed to glow, all of a sudden wisps of what looked like hair began to rise off of him, swirling and twirling they entwined themselves with their partners. As they continued to merge, their dance sped up until it became a blur and finally with a tug they broke off from him and began floating. The pocket watch, freed from his now limp hand, shot up and opened its lid and the thread was sucked in. With a snap of its lid, it floated down into his waiting hand whose fingers closed around it.

He awoke to a loud but muffled clamour, shaking himself he stood still grasping the pocket watch he strode over to the window. Keeping his entire body away from the window and only his eye and nose sticking out he peered between the drapes and the window frame and saw a group of people standing in the street just outside his property. With a groan followed by a sigh and a slumping of his shoulder, he stalked over to the kitchen, which thankfully had no windows.

He grabbed the kettle and after filling it up with water placed it on the stovetop. He flicked his wand at the stove under the kettle but nothing happened, grumbling about Fate being a nasty bitch he went over to a cupboard and grabbed the box of matches. Turning on the gas, he flicked the match on the side of the box and placed the burning end near the bottom of the kettle, and with a pop, he had a small ring of blue flame burning under the kettle.

Reaching up to another cupboard, he pulled out a mug and a box of black tea. Pulling out a tea bag, he carefully placed one in the cup and waited for the water to boil all the time muttering about nosey quibbling neighbours. There was a slight tug of his lips as the whistle blew. Hurrying over he poured the water into the cup and carefully carried the cup over to the chair and the pocket watch. Muttering about being forgetful and with a quick scan of the room his eyes stopped when they caught sight of a coaster.

Still looking at it, he flicked his wand and shouted out 'accio' but nothing happened grumbling he shouted out 'Wingardium Leviosa' but again nothing happened. Cursing under his breath, he got up again with his cup in his hand, walked over to the coaster, roughly snatched it up with his free hand and stomped back to his chair and with a huff slammed the coaster down on the table next to the chair, but gently placed the cup down on it.

Staring at the fireplace, he began to take long deep breaths and his eye was partially closed. After a short while, he opened his eye, reached for the cup of tea, and slowly sipped at it. After the first sip, his lip twitched and he quickly moved the cup away. He then proceeded to blow heavily into the cup. After a short period of blowing, he took another sip and afterwards there was cracks in his face that grew wider and pieces of stone began to flake off. Another sip later and his shoulders sagged and he slumped back into the chair.

After he had finished the tea, he went into the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal and then retreated with bowl in hand to the couch where he began eating. After the first few bites, his eye left his bowl and began staring at the pocket watch. A small bit of milk and cereal pooled on his pants but he never took his eyes off the pocket watch. The sound of the spoon hitting an empty bowl rang through the empty house, but the clang was not enough to rouse him from his staring contest.

Finally, with a shake of his head he pulled his eye away from the pocket watch and cursed as he looked down at the puddle in his lap. He flicked his wand over it but nothing happened cursing again, he stood up letting all that milk and cereal dribble down his shirt and down his trousers to the floor. Grumbling to himself, he pulled the soiled clothes off exposing the ticktacktoe board of scars on his back and a web of scars on his sickly thin chest that appeared to open and trickle blood. As he looked down at himself, his eye widened so much it looked like it would fall out and his mouth opened enough to fit a fist in it with room to spare.

'How is this possible? Those scars should not be there they were all healed last time I checked and my chest never looked this thin. I mean when I was living with the Dursley's every time I pulled off my shirt I always expected to see proof of the abuse, but miraculously there was none. I also have not been able to perform any magic today. Could they possibly be linked? Probably. In fact, most defiantly. These were all healed using magic and probably so was my malnutrition. To have all of it undone would mean that somehow all my magic was removed from me and in the process undid everything that was connected to magic. Fate must really hate me. What did I do to deserve this? So much for changing my clothes, now there is no point in getting dressed, as I'll just get them stained with blood.'

Sighing, he turned to look at the pocket watch sitting innocently on the side table. 'This all started when I read the letter and then picked up the pocket watch. It said that the pocket watch was a means of escape and a way to find meaning in my life.'

Staring at the pocket watch for a second his face became stone again and he strode over to the chair in just his boxers. He picked up the pocket watch and looked at it intently before dropping it quickly and staring at his hand, which now was red. He looked at it again and saw it glowing softly a light golden colour. After wrapping his hand in his discarded shirt, he reached down, grabbed the pocket watch, and pulled it up to his face.

With pursed lips and narrowed eyes, he looked at it before sighing and flicking it open. He immediately placed a hand over his eyes as an immense bright golden light burst out. Golden and silver threads corkscrewed out of the open pocket watch and swirled around him. More and more threads wrapped around him, roping him and after the pocket watch tugged on them, the loops narrowed until they began cutting off circulation. He groaned in pain until it wrapped around his jaw and prevented him from making a sound. The threads continued to wrap around him until he disappeared, swallowed up by the glow coming out of the pocket watch.

Muffled screams could be heard from the group of people that had gathered outside. Someone calling out 'fire! Quick! Someone, go get help!' the light grew in intensity encompassing the whole room. The cup sitting discarded on the side table began to shake and began to slide towards the edge. It teetered on the edge before gravity won and it fell to the floor where it shattered, black liquid began seeping out of its wounds. The discarded tea bag lay in the middle of the shattered pieces still pumping its lifeblood into the remains around it. The wallpaper began to curl in on itself darkening as it went. The smell of smoke filled the room and the far off whine of sirens began to grow in volume.

After a long time the strands began to detach themselves from the pocket watch and when the last strand broke free the pocket watch snapped shut and fell to the floor. He continued to be encased in the glowing threads for a short period before then slowly began to be sucked into him. He continued to glow, even after the last strand was absorbed for a period before that dimmed and was absorbed. Darkness quickly rushed into the vacuum shrouding the man and most of the room except for a silver trail of light painted from the window to the middle of the room. He lay there, unmoving and not making a sound, not even the sound of air rushing into his body and the sound of his deflating and inflating windbag could be heard, he was dead to the world.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

There was a crash and muffled voices followed by heavy footsteps could be heard getting louder. Two people dressed in the heavy clothing stepped into the room, a giant hose in their hands. After a quick look around the room, they turned to each other and muffled voices could be heard. One of them took the hose and retreated from the room while the other walked over to him.

'Sir, are you ok? Sir' a gloved hand reached out and began shaking his bare shoulder.

His head rolled to one side and then to the other and then he groaned. After shaking his head rapidly, he opened his eyes and then he groaned again and put his head in his hands.

'My head hurts'

'Are you injured?'

'I don't think so I just have a massive headache.'

'What happened? Your neighbours saw what looked like a fire and called us. When we arrived there was nothing apparent though when we entered, the house looked like it had caught on fire.'

'I do not know I must have been asleep, the last thing I remember was sitting in this chair and holding a family heirloom.'

'If I may ask sir what was this heirloom?'

'A pocket watch.'

'Well, is there anything you need sir? Just let us know. I'll be sending the paramedics in to make sure you really are alright.'

'Thanks'

Then the heavy footsteps retreated and lighter and faster footsteps were heard approaching and a man and a women rushed over to him and began rapidly talking to each other and to him but he didn't respond. Instead, his hands fell and his head moved to the side. The chatter picked up in intensity and the man rushed out and quickly returned with a stretcher. After much struggle, they managed to manoeuvre him on to it and carried him outside and into the waiting ambulance. Sirens wailing they sped away.

He was laid in a hospital bed with nurses huddled around him and the monitors that surrounded him. He slept in the bed for two days without any movement. The nurses and doctors that hovered around him wore frowns and their muttering was frantic. Occasionally they would gesture with their entire hand at the heart monitor with lowered eyebrows and then shake their heads. The electrocardiogram was oddly showing an R wave that dipped for a bit before rising again. This was mirrored in the S wave that followed.

It was two full days before he awoke. He moved his head around before groaning and mumbling something about how he always wakes up in an infirmary. He then went about pushing his head back into the pillow to the point where the sides of the pillow were sticking nearly vertical around his head. The clock clock of heels was getting louder until a shortest woman with brunette hair walked in and began looking at all the machines before turning to face him.

'Mr. Potter! We're so glad that you're awake. I'll go get Doctor Beckett he has questions for you.' The clock clock sped up as she disappeared from the room.

She returned shortly with a cheerful slightly rotund man who plopped himself down in the chair by the bed. 'Mr. Potter so glad you're awake, you had us all worried. Now, there are a few things that I need to ask you, the first question is, what are you?'

'I don't understand, I'm human?'

Beckett's eyes widened before narrowing them. 'I'm afraid that scientifically you are not human, though the fact that you are unaware, that is of course unless you are lying, is troubling. The reason why I asked that question is because first off you have two hearts and second off your DNA is completely different from a human.'

'I have two hearts?' he then began to chuckle. 'You're funny! Two hearts? Please! You're gonna have to do better than that.'

Beckett's mouth became drawn before the edges began curling down 'Mister Potter I am not joking around with you, both my stethoscope and an MRI prove it. Here look at this screen and see for yourself.'

He turning his head to the left to look at the screen that Beckett was pointing at, his eyes widened, and his mouth opened. He stared at the screen for the longest time before his lips finally moved and a stream of words came out. 'What? How? Why?'

'That's what we were hoping you could tell us, though I can see that you are just as clueless as we are.'

The next thing we would like to know is why you do not have any burns on you. When the fire fighters found you, all the walls and furniture were burned but your skin was not even touched. None of the hair on your body was singed and your skin was not even warm to the touch."

His hands reached up to his pace and began touching every inch of smooth unblemished skin. He felt along his forehead and then touched a diagonal path across his nose and down into his right cheek. The fingers of his left hand marched up his left cheek until when they came along side his nose he gave a gasp and his hand snapped down. Shortly after, his hand moved back up to his socket. He carefully patted the edges of the socket and when his fingers reached the edges of the socket his hand would jump slightly as new skin pushed his fingers away. His eyes widened as far as they could go and he began muttering to himself.

'Impossible, impossible' reaching up his fingers grabbed strands of hair and pulled them down to his eyes and grumbled at the fact that it was no longer black and why did it have to be brown.

'Mister Potter, Mister Potter please answer the question, do you know why you never suffered from any burns?'

He muttered quietly. 'I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.'

Nodding his head, the doctor turned his head slightly and began gazing at the wall for a few minutes. Then he turned his head back and quietly spoke, 'I'm afraid that you are going to have to remain here for a few days just to make sure that you are all right.'

He just nodded his head slowly and stared down his bead ignoring the doctor as he slowly made his way out of the room. He did not move for the next few hours even when the nurse left a platter full of food right next to his bed. Eventually he turned and grabbing the tray began stuffing his face full of food. In a matter of seconds, the tray was empty and after a call for more food, this process continued until he had a five trays stacked haphazardly.

A few days later, the nurse returned with the familiar clock clock. His mouth curled down and he let out a growl.

"Mister Potter we took the liberty of bring some of your clothes from your house for you to wear out of the hospital since when we found you, you had none on.' At this, her cheeks tinted slightly. After setting them down on the chair by the bed she turned and quickly retreated.

He began to put on his clothes. He first pulled up his boxers only for them to slide down and pool at his feet. Grumbling something about incompetent nurses, he put them on and while holding them up with one hand he reached for the trousers. He struggled with his one hand to put on the trousers. Once they were around his waist he tightened the belt al the way it could go. Looking down at his waist and the bunched up material of both boxers and trousers on his sides and then down at the section of leg sticking out from the trousers he sighed. He slowly picked up his shirt and began to put it over his head. The shirt got to his shoulders before it refused to go down any further.

He looked down at his slender chest, the beer gut replaced by a hint of abdominal muscles peaking out, before turning to look at each shoulder before sighing again. He pressed the call button and shortly the same nurse from before arrived accompanied by the clock clock of her heels.

'Yes Mister Potter what can I do for you?'

'Are you sure that you go these clothes from my house, because as you can see' he pointed to his waist and his legs and the shirt that was pooled on top of his shoulders 'these don't fit me.'

'Yes I'm certain' she replied with a slight tint to her cheeks.

'Well?'

I'll go bring in a tailor' she left again and after a huff he crawled back into the bed and lay there with his narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

Two hours later the tailor arrived in a button down shirt and a small moustache and a receding hairline. After he had stood up the tailor moved around with his tape measure and pad of paper making marks.

'What is it you want me to get you?'

'A pair of boxers, some khaki trousers with a belt and a white button down shirt, the rest I can get later, this is just so I can go home.'

'You're in luck that your sizes aren't too outlandish'

The tailor then scurried out of the room. He stayed their leaning against the bed jsut staring at the plain white wall of the hospital bed.

An hour later the tailor bustled in with the clothes and after dropping them off scurried away again leaving him alone to dress in private. He smiled as the clothes fit just right. He walked out of the hospital with a smile on his face and leaving in his wake stares from women and a few from the men.

He walked briskly down into town and then up the road to his house. The smile disappeared when he saw the house. He cautiously walked up the drove and passed the busted in blackened door and scrunched in his nose at the smell of charred wood in the air.

Ignoring the rest of the house, he went into the living room where his chair sat with only patches of red to mark its original colour. Sitting right in the middle of the chair was the pocket watch.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Eyebrows lowered he reached down and grabbed the pocket watch pulling it up to his face and held it for a few minutes before setting it down on the blackened remains of the table next the chair. Then reaching into his new pants pocket he pulled out a piece of paper. Holding it up to the light revealed a scrawling script made up of letters that were angled and close together. Eyebrows scrunched up his eyes began to move slowly back and forth.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I would like to inform you that I have destroyed all references to your 'abnormality' and to let you know that I was the only one working on you. The nurses were informed that you had an irregular heartbeat, which is true, but nothing else. I personally know what it is like to be the centre of unwanted attention though not to your extent, but I care for your privacy and could tell right away by your reactions that you had seen your fair share of hospitals and unwanted attention and so I thought it was best if nobody was informed. If however you wanted such attention and publicity, I apologize. I hope you never again have the need of medical attention and I wish you the best of luck._

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. Carson Beckett_

He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and let out a breath of air. He sank further back into his chair and his body went limp. His eyelids began fluttering, his mouth opened, and a moan escaped. His head began moving back and forth and his arms made several unsuccessful grasps of the material beneath his hands.

"Stop. Please stop."

His fingers were burrowing into the material, clenching onto small handfuls of the half-destroyed chair and pulling them up. The air was full of the sound of ripping fabrics.

"I don't want it. Stop it, the pain is too much."

"No. No. no."

Suddenly his grip eased and as his head fell, his arms reached up to grab it. A muffled sound wafted from behind his hands and after a few minutes, the sound stopped. He sat there with his hands covering his face for the longest time until he heard voices coming from outside his house. With a repeated sound, he moved his hands away from his face, stood up, and went over to the charred remains of the window shades while remaining out of the light coming through the shades he peaked out at the mass of people outside.

"Not again"

A bunch of nonsensical words tumbled out along with a few words that the mass outside would have frowned at, he went back to his chair and sat in it.

"How can I escape? How can I escape?" came out of his mouth, though the words only seemed to reach his ears. After a few minutes, his lips drew up his face and his eyes widened. He quickly stood up and pulled out his wand. Waving it around in a complicated pattern a huge pile of greenish brown goo appeared that covered the floor.

He then used his wand again in a different pattern and the goo began to coalesce and rise up building a column in the centre of the room. When all the goo had been consumed in the pillar that now stood 9 feet tall. He waved his wand again at the floor and a new pile was formed around the base. After another wave, it began to harden forming a rough square. More goo was placed around the edges and it began to form small columns that twisted around each other until it formed a solid wall that came together to form a point with the small columns stretching towards the top of the centre column.

Stepping up to the wall, he began to weave his wand and silver and gold threads began to wrap around the structure with different runes appearing around the outer edge of the structure. Stepping up to one of the sides he waved his wand and it began to pull apart forming a diamond opening that continued to expand until it left three feet of the floor exposed. He then walked into the structure.

The inside of the structure was bare as it was just the frame. Waving his wand at the central column more goo appeared and began moving up and then out around the pillar forming a sort of table. After another wave of his wand more golden and silver threads began weaving around the column and suddenly the central column began to glow brighter and brighter until with a giant silver flash the room became pitch black. Then suddenly a small green light began glowing at the base of the column. The light began growing in intensity until it formed a small sphere.

Then thin green lines began spiralling up towards the table and once it reached it the lines began moving out covering the underside of the table like structure. Suddenly the structure began bubbling. The bubbles began to get bigger and higher in some places before they froze.

He walked over to it, looked down at all the buttons and levers all over the surface, and smiled. Waving his wand a chair was created along with a railing running around most of the structure. Waving his wand at one side four racks were created to hold many clothes and on the opposite side and bathroom complete with a shower, Jacuzzi, sink and a loo began to grow out of another pile of goo. Turning to the opposite side of the door and with a wave of his wand a bed began growing along with a dresser.

After several piles of goo were laid out between him and these creations, they began to form walls in the similar manner to the outer walls. Then these rooms began to move away from the centre enlarging the room. With another smile, he walked back outside and then with another wave of his wand, a rainbow of colours began spouting out of his wand and began curling around the structure and more runes began appearing as the outside walls began flickering and the colour and shape began changing. It disappeared then reappeared, turned into a police box and then a small thatch house. It then turned into a sleek object with wings and blue emitters on the back before returning to its original organic look.

Harry's mouth widened showing teeth with a light yellowish tint. He waved his wand and after a complicated pattern, tailored trousers, plaid boxers, shirts, jeans, hoodies, trainers, a brown suit with blue pinstripes, a light blue shirt, several different ties, a few trench coats, socks, dressing gowns, blazers, morning coats, breeches, shoes, stockings, cravat, waistcoat, petticoat, and other types of clothing began materializing and then flew into the structure.

He strode forward into the machine, went into the contraption, walked up to the centre console, with another wave of his wand a computer screen appeared and four cables snaked out of the console station and attached themselves to the back of the screen. With another wave of his wand, a keyboard was formed and one more snaked out of the console station and connected with the keyboard.

His mouth widened again and placing his left hand on a button and his right on a lever. His left hand pushed the button down, the right pulled the lever down, and then the whole contraption began shaking. After a large shake, his whole body swayed before toppling to the ground still with his mouth open and for the first time, there was light dancing in his eyes. He made no move to get up shortly after a low whine began sounding and the column in the centre began lighting up. The green lights began turning on starting at the console and rising up the column to the roof. The lights would turn off after a few seconds and the process continued until the whine reached a fever pitch and then with a final groan and shake the machine shut down.

Jumping up he quickly rushed to the doorway and opened it. The area outside was chalked full of people dressed in coats and trousers and moving in and around tents. Music was heard playing as well as an excited voice. Rushing back inside he ran over to the racks and selected several clothes that looked like they would fit the culture and ran outside.

Looking back, he found himself staring at a horse and carriage. Smiling he turned back and walked over to the bunch of tents. There looked to be a man out front speaking to a crowd that had gathered outside.

As he got closer, he began to understand what the man was saying. "Step right up ladies and gentlemen and for a few Pfennigs you can see the wonders of the world. Take a journey into your soul in the hall of mirrors or watch the amazing max dazzle your eyes with magic. As he reached the group and as he looked up at the man, it was plain that the words coming out of his mouth were not coordinated with his lip movement.

With the edges of his lips high on his face he strode up to the man and after a cautious wave of his hands he pulled out a couple of Pfennigs he counted out the right amount and gave it to the man.

"Very good sir though you seem older than my usual crowd and alone too."

"Yeah well I never got a chance to see one in my youth."

"Well than enjoy yourself while you still can. I'm sure that you will find more about yourself than you could ever imagine." As he walked away from the man, he barely heard the man say, "That poor, poor man, such a lonely and painful childhood and such a lonely future but it will all be worth it in the end."

He chuckled as he reached the magician. "He looks so much like Dumbledore complete with his beard and wacky clothing tastes"

One of the girls was telling Max that magic does not exist. Then as if to prove her wrong, Max showed them an empty hat and asked the girl to feel around in the hat and to see if it was indeed a normal bowler hat. When she finally nodded her head, he then pulled out a rose and placed it in the hat and then with a few words and a wave of his hand, he reached in and pulled out a live bunny rabbit and then he showed her the hat, which was indeed empty. The girl was left speechless. Muttering to himself "he must be a wizard as that was totally transfiguration," he left.

The next tent had a sign with House of Mirrors painted on it. The lad at the door looked at him and spoke in a deep voice, while his eyes were full of flickering lights.

"Step right up and see your true self this House of Mirrors will lay everything bare, make you face your fears and enlighten you all at the same time."

Shortly after the lad was done talking, his shoulders lowered and his legs began slowing down as he slowly made his way into the House of Mirrors. Many candles lighted the room yet they seemed to only light the mirrors and the glow from the mirrors on both side of him were enough to outline him but not much else.

He continued to look at both mirrors as he trekked down towards the middle of the tent. As he went, he began to shake more and more and eventually he began to whisper no's. the mirrors continued to only show a man with bright green eyes and a handsome face smooth and free of blemishes. In the middle was a half circle of mirrors and once he reached it he began to really shake and his eyes widened and he shouted out a no before turning around and running out of the tent his eyelids completely retracted and his mouth wide open yet no sound came out.

He tore past the startled lad at the door nearly hitting him, running out to his carriage, and opening the door he climbed inside and shut the door. He slumped to the floor his eyes still wide open and his chest heaving slowly ever so slowly his breathing slowed and his eyelids closed.


End file.
